Blind Man's Bluff
by SakuraMoriChan
Summary: Low on money, desperate and with apparently no other option, Alfred F. Jones mugs a man late one night. This stranger is Arthur Kirkland, a blind violinist. Later, Alfred meets Arthur again; on a blind date. AU, USUK
1. Amaryllis

_So, here I am, starting a new story again, while I have millions of on-going ones…I'm starting to think I'm just an idiot or something…But this little plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone, and was nibbling at my mind for the past few days XD And it's probably the only AU story I've started so far that has nothing 'magical' about it, unless you count Arthur being blind...Okay, I'll just say what's important here. This is USUK, so it's shounen-ai :) There will also be a Nyotalia character, a Fem!England who will be Arthur's sister in this ^_^ (I know that not many people like Nyotalia, so sorry…) As far as I know, she is the only Nyotalia character I'll include :) Because of this, I'm thinking of including Francexfem!England. I don't know why, but I feel a little more soft to that version of FrUK, more than when they're both males. Also I've never written FrUK before, and I want to see if writing it like this will open my mind to it more. (Because usually I'm a complete and utter USUK fangirl XD) Now than other pairings that MIGHT appear (big might, since I'm not too sure at this point XD) are GerIta, PruCan, and a small possibility of Spamano. Warnings : A bit of swearing, deception, stealing, blind!Arthur, shounen-ai…Yeah, I think I've covered everything :)_

* * *

Alfred shivered from the cold and his own anxiety, tensed, back against the wall as he clutched a small object in his pocket. The frosty night was silent except for his ragged, suspenseful breaths that were visible against the cool air.

He was alone, as far as he could tell. Alfred hugged his own chest, trying to hold onto some form of warmth. Hardly anyone would be out at this time, especially not with the current temperature. It was autumn, but it might as well of been the dead of winter.

He stiffened at the sound of a police siren, but let out another breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, comforting himself by saying that it was probably because of a crime in some other part of the area. It was that kind of place, you could barely go anywhere without seeing teenagers breaking windows, spreading graffiti, or watching someone being attacked and stripped of everything they owned. Normally, Alfred would have condemned that type of behaviour, but now…

_There's no other way, _Alfred told himself, fighting back at the growing sense of fear and guilt. _If you don't have enough money in two days, you'll be kicked out and forced on the streets. There's no other way…_

But thinking this did not mean he believed it. There were probably thousands of better ways to get money. But he was desperate, he had no time. It would be easy. All Alfred had to do was yell out a few empty threats at the next person who walked by and force them to hand over their wallet. Simple.

Except Alfred had been standing there for almost an hour now, and no one had passed him. He might as well of been in a ghost town. He was completely alone.

He stuck his head out from his hiding place, an alleyway that was almost concealed by the shadows, quickly scanning the street. Nothing.

Alfred deflated. Had he just been standing there like an idiot for nothing? Seriously, if no one showed up in the next ten minutes, he was going home. There were so many other things he could be doing with his time, like arguing with his insane Russian landlord, or telling Im Yong Soo to give him his DVDs back, or playing video games, or feeding those rabbits the quiet Dutch guy down the hall owned, or eating a burger, or-…

Footsteps. Alfred's eyes widened. He forced himself into back, pressing into the wall, as if he was trying to melt into it. Those were definitely footsteps, slow and careful, and walking down the pavement, unknowingly closer to Alfred.

Alfred tensed, clutching the knife in his pocket tighter. It only had a small blade, as its main purpose was to strike fear into people's hearts, rather than actually hurt them. But it was still sharp, and Alfred couldn't swallow the lump forming in his throat as his hands closed around the handle.

He had to do this now. Otherwise he might as well just start packing his things, since there was no way his landlord would let him stay if he didn't have the proper money. Alfred pulled his hood up; making sure the scarf was wrapped around his mouth securely. The hoodie was there to protect his identity, and the scarf was to muffle his voice. There was no point in doing this if he was just going to get caught.

With one more insecure breath, Alfred stepped out into the open. "H-hey!" he called, hating the way his voice shook. He couldn't hesitate with this.

The other in front of him paused in their path. It was a man, a man with messy blonde hair and rather thick eyebrows. He was wearing a thick coat due to the cold weather, and holding some kind of instrument case in one hand. In the other, he was grasping a white cane. Alfred felt his heart sink, noticing the other's dull and unseeing green eyes. Oh, _God_, he was about to mug a blind man.

"Who's there?" The other's clouded eyes were narrowed with confusion, his posture stiffened slightly.

Alfred breathed in, preparing himself. There was no point in giving up now. "G…" He paused, willing himself not to trip over his own words. "Give me your wallet," Alfred said, holding out his hand, even though there was really no point since the other man wouldn't be able to see the action.

The blood seemed to drain from the blind man's face. "You're joking," he said, taking a small step back, wondering if he should try to run.

Alfred marched forward, gripping the other man's shoulder pushing him against a wall. He tried not to do it too forcefully, as the shorter man just seemed so _frail _compared to Alfred, but still enough to get his point across, to scare the him, even if it was only a little. "Give me your wallet _now_," Alfred growled, fighting against the growing sense of regret at the sight of the blind man's shocked expression. "I-I have a knife." Alfred said this, knowing the only other way the man would know about this was if he literally pressed it against his skin.

The other man, who seemed to of been in a daze before, jerked at these words. The instrument case and the cane had long since fallen out of his hands. "F-fine, you-…." he didn't finish the possible insult, searching his pocket with a trembling hand. His face may have looked rather calm, but it was obvious that he was scared.

_Huh…He sounds British…_Alfred noted. _Wait, wait, wait...Is that _really _what I should be worrying about here?_

A black leather wallet was held up, and Alfred snatched it out of the Brit's hand. There. It was over now. He didn't have to see the blind man ever again; he could get on with his life…

At least, that was what he _thought. _Until he noticed something catch the light, something gold glittering around the other's neck.

"And give me the necklace too!" Alfred said without really thinking. Seriously, what was he doing? He had the man's money, that was all he needed. _Leave! _his mind screamed. _You've done enough, just leave him alone now!_

He must have touched on something personal, because the blind man glared at Alfred suddenly. "You…Don't even _think_ about touching it!" he spat; now struggling against Alfred.

Alfred found himself fighting back, not knowing why. He had the man's wallet, why did he need a necklace that was obviously somehow important too? Because it looked valuable?

He hadn't realised he had still been clutching the knife, he had forgotten about it in the moment. But before he even knew what was happening, the blade was buried into the blind man's abdomen.

Alfred paled as the man groaned, falling to his knees. The knife was still in his hand, but now its blade was laced with scarlet. _Oh…Oh, hell, oh, hell, oh, hell! _Alfred went down to his own knees, quickly examining the fallen man. He felt sick, noticing the growing damp patch the Brit's clothes.

He resisted the urge to panic. Screaming 'you made me do that!' at the person you just stabbed really seemed low in Alfred's eyes. The man was trying to sit up, but was forced down onto his back after a flash of pain. Alfred grabbed his own scarf and pressed it against the other's wound, earning a slight gasp.

Alfred pulled out a phone, quickly dialling the number for the emergency services. "H-hello?" Alfred said, trembling slightly. "A man's been stabbed, p-please hurry!" He quickly told them the details of their location, turning his attention back to the blind man. Or rather, the blind man's chest. His coat had fallen open after he had collapsed. The 'necklace' was a gold pocket watch, attached to a chain around his neck.

It attracted Alfred's attention, and, without thinking, Alfred's hands closed around it. He pulled it, the thin chain snapping quickly and easily.

"D-don't…" the man said weakly, reaching out his hand in attempt to retrieve his stolen pocket watch. "G-give it back…"

Alfred's gaze drifted from the pocket watch, to the blind man on the cold floor. The siren of an ambulance could be heard in the distance.

"I'm sorry," Alfred said, making sure the pocket watch and the wallet were securely placed in the front part of his hoodie. He stood. Alfred walked away, not looking behind him.

* * *

_*Gasps* Alfred…I'm honestly not sure how I came up with this…I just thought I'd like to write about blind!Arthur one day, and this idea just randomly popped in my head, slowly developing as the days went by…Yeah, please review and tell me what you think ^_^_


	2. Begonia

One of Arthur's earliest memories was of playing blind man's bluff with Rose, his younger sister, and Francis Bonnefoy, a 'friend' from France who would often visit during the holidays. But Arthur had never really liked the game. He always somehow ended up playing the part of the blind man. He didn't like the way his world would be plunged into darkness, how disorientated and lost he would feel.

"_Ha! Okay...Is this…Francis?"_

"_Arthur! I'm not Francis!"_

"_Oh, sorry Rose!"_

A laugh. _"Well, it looks like Arthur has to stay as the blind man."_

"_S-shut up!"_

A few years later, Arthur found himself playing the game permanently. The light and colours of the world were gone, replaced by nothing. He couldn't remember anything from the accident that had cost him his sight, Rose and his mother had been reluctant to talk about it.

Even without being able to see their expressions, Arthur could tell that the subject depressed them. It was in the tone of their voices. So he didn't ask about it again. No matter how curious about what had happened he was.

He hadn't just lost his sight; quite a lot of freedom had also been ripped away from him. His mother stopped him from going to school again; at first just so that he could recover from his injuries properly, but even after that it was decided that it would be best if he didn't go to school anymore, that it'd be hard for him to adjust if he did go back. Arthur would be tutored at home instead.

Social interactions were limited to Rose, Francis, his mother, and letters from his father that would be read aloud. His movements were suddenly watched almost at all times, and he wasn't allowed to do nearly as much as he had before.

But Arthur could still play the violin. He had been practicing it before he had lost his sight, and still managed to play the instrument, even if he had to reply on hearing and touch to accomplish this. It was hard, at first, but he eventually grew used to playing the violin in the darkness that was his life.

That was only one thing, however. Practically everything else had been excluded from his life. He could no longer read, he had to write slowly to draw a single letter properly and to make sure that it actually stayed on the line, and Arthur was also hardly ever allowed to travel past his front garden.

After years of this, Arthur found his way of living was growing tedious. The way everyone insisted on doing everything for him, it was practically smothering. So when he reached the age of 20 he told his mother he was leaving. He had booked a plane, and was going to live in America.

There was arguing, of course. His mother said it was absurd that he could even think about such an idea. But Arthur's mind was set, and he fought back stubbornly. A compromise was eventually reached; Arthur was allowed to leave if Rose went with him.

Rose didn't really mind. She could continue studying, and Arthur had actually told her about his plan beforehand. Except for a grumbled response she hadn't argued at all about moving with him. Rose had been concerned about Arthur's idea too.

Arthur would have preferred moving on his own. It wasn't like he didn't want Rose to come; he practically trusted Rose more than anyone else. But after years of having to depend on other people, often without really wanting to had given him the desire to live on his own, to prove to everyone that he didn't really need anyone.

But he wasn't stupid. He knew that he couldn't live on his own without help. But he also knew he wasn't as helpless as everyone always seemed to think he was. Arthur might have been blind, but he could still hear, he could touch and smell. He had grown used to living without his sight.

Like when he was walking home that day. Even without anyone telling him, Arthur knew it was autumn. It was the way the bitter wind would hit him, and the fallen leaves would crunch under his shoes. He could hear Rose's light footsteps behind him, closer to his own than normal after what had happened a few days ago.

Arthur winced at the tight feeling in his abdomen, his stiches still new and sore. "You were very lucky," the doctor had said. "The blade just barely missed your organs. Otherwise, your chances of living wouldn't have been so great."

But Arthur didn't feel lucky. His world of darkness was bad enough, but after being attacked and robbed he now felt depressed and vulnerable. Arthur would tense whenever someone walked past him, as if they were all planning to assault him. He knew there was no point to fearing this, but he just couldn't help it. He kept thinking back to when he was lying on the cold ground, his clothes growing damp with what he wished was sweat, and the sound of the ambulance's siren growing closer.

And…he didn't have his pocket watch anymore…

He turned at Rose's words, now knowing that he had to walk through the front garden to arrive at the house he had been living in for the past three years. Arthur's hand fumbled inside his pocket, eventually closing around something cold. His key. He placed it in the keyhole, having to slide it along the metal surface to find the slot, and unlocked the door.

Walking inside, he could hear what he figured was Rose taking off her coat and moving across the room to put it away. Arthur removed his own, the scratchy fabric rubbing against his skin. It wasn't the same coat he had been wearing a few days ago, that and his clothes from that night were stained with blood and would probably have to be thrown away. It was a shame. He had really liked his other coat.

"Where's my violin?" he asked, trying to tear his thoughts away from that night.

"I put it in his usual place," Rose answered with a frown, reappearing from the closet where she had hung her coat.

Arthur nodded, entering the living room and moving to the corner on the other side of the room. The surrounding furniture had been purposely spread out, most staying close to the wall. This was to make sure that there was enough space to move around freely.

His violin case was wedged between a potted plant and a black leather couch. Arthur lifted it up carefully, not wanting to pull his stiches and cause anymore unnecessary pain. He raised the violin, now that it was freed of its case, so that it was level with his chest. Arthur plucked a string tentatively before sighing. "Out of tune…" he mumbled. "Rose," Arthur called, "do you think you can play an A?"

"Um, okay," was Rose's answer, traveling to the other side of the room where the mahogany piano rested. She pressed the required note, turning to Arthur as he began gently twisting the pegs on his violin and plucking the string continuously. "The police visited the other day," she told him. "They said they wanted to ask you some questions after you got back from the hospital."

"Oh?" Arthur's attention was focused on his violin. "What about?"

"Arthur, you know exactly what."

Arthur sighed, loosening his grip on the instrument slightly. Of course he knew. "What exactly could they want to know?" Arthur asked, an edge of irritation evident in his voice. "It's not like I _saw _anything." He pulled the string one last time with a satisfied grunt. "D," he said.

Rose blinked a few times before realising what he meant. She pressed the note, regarding her brother carefully. "I know, but maybe telling them what you heard or what happened could help. Whoever the hell did this deserves to rot in prison," the last part was mumbled, but Arthur still heard her clearly.

"I feel the same, but I don't see how they can catch him," Arthur said. "I can't tell them what he looked like, and I can barely even remember what he sounded like." Arthur was reminded of the lack of weight on his chest; the place where his pocket watch used to lie. He bit his lip.

"I know!" Rose was beginning to sound annoyed. "But…But you can't just do nothing!" Rose resisted the urge to throw her arms in the air out of frustration. "It's always the same with you. Whenever something bad happens you try to avoid it, and do meaningless things to take your mind of it. Like tuning your violin."

"This isn't meaningless," Arthur held up the violin. "This is my livelihood!"

"'Livelihood'? Arthur, all you do is play the violin at a café. And sometimes help wait on tables when they're short on staff."

"Well, you work at a florist! How is that any better?"

"What does that have to do with anything, y-!" Rose paused, huffing slightly. "You're doing it again! Whenever I ask you about something that makes you uncomfortable, you just change the subject!" She frowned. Thinking back, it had been like that ever since the accident. Arthur never seemed to admit when he was sad or scared, and only seemed to show both of these with either procrastination or locking himself in his room. Or getting drunk.

Her thoughts drifting back to the night her brother had been robbed, the question left her mouth before she even had time to think about it. "Do…Do you blame me for what happened?"

Arthur's hand jerked, twisting the peg on his violin too quickly and snapping the string he had been tuning. He didn't seem to notice. "What the hell gave you that idea?" he asked slowly, clearly confused.

Rose looked away, now embarrassed. "It's just…" she began uncertainly. "I usually walk home with you. I couldn't that night, because they needed extra help, and when I called you said you'd be fine walking home on your own, but look what happened! You were _stabbed,_ Arthur. The bastard took your wallet and even dad's pocket watch. And…You've been avoiding the subject whenever I ask you about what happened, so…" she trailed off.

"Rose…"

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a persistent tapping at the front door. Whoever it was quickly realised that it was unlocked, and opened it themselves. They were familiar with the house, and quickly turned into the living room.

"Ah, there you are!" Francis Bonnefoy said brightly. He walked forward, smiling at the Brits.

"Oh, today just gets better and better…" Arthur muttered sarcastically. Rose merely rolled her eyes.

"I visited the hospital this morning but they said you had already returned home," Francis explained. He smirked. "It's just like you. Moving around, even after a major accident."

"He's not allowed to go back to work for at least two weeks," Rose added, not enjoying the feeling of being ignored. It almost seemed like a command.

Arthur scowled and Francis laughed. "Good, good."

"Does it even matter?" Arthur huffed, placing the violin down next to him. He had finally noticed the damaged string, and mentally noted to order a new one.

Francis regarded Arthur, realising that something was missing. "Ah, Arthur," Francis said, suddenly figuring out what it was. "Where's your pocket watch?"

It was as if that one question had shattered any possible attempts at a pleasant atmosphere. Rose glared at the Frenchman and Arthur stood up. "Excuse me," he said, exiting the room without another word. The door slammed behind him.

"Idiot," was Rose's comment, adding a light face palm. "What do you _think _happened to it?"

Francis raised his hands defensively. "I-I don't-!" His expression darkened. "Ah…It was stolen?" Rose nodded with a scowl and Francis sighed. "I didn't think-,"

"No. You didn't," Rose said coolly. Her face fell, anger and irritation quickly replaced with sadness. "That watch was so important to him…What kind of sick person robs a blind person in the first place?"

"I know," he stepped closer to her. "Well…Surely someone must have seen something? They might be able to say whoever did this…"

"I hope so, but so far no one has come forward. And Arthur is so awkward about these types of things…He'd rather sulk in his room than actually confront his problems."

Arthur, who preferred to say 'escaped' to his room, moved through the door and sat on his own bed. He winced at the pain from his stiches, and slowly tried to lie down.

He huffed to himself. Why did that stupid frog have to bring up his pocket watch? Maybe if they had left the subject alone, Arthur might have been able to forget about it for a little while. He doubted he was ever going to get it back, so it seemed like the best option.

But Rose said that he was just avoiding the problem…How could she say that? She would always do exactly the same thing!

There was a light, curled up pressure on his bed. Arthur stretched his arm down and rubbed his sleeping cat's ear absentmindedly. "Iggycat, what am I supposed to do?" he asked it, not expecting any form of answer. As expected, the only reply he received from his pet was an irritable grumble at the sudden contact, but that was quickly replaced by a series of purrs.

The name 'Iggycat' was really just a nickname. Arthur had received the cat for a birthday many years ago, and, for some reason he could no longer remember, had named his new pet Ignatius Catus Kirkland. But no one could remember that, and Iggycat had become a quick replacement.

Iggycat was now moving from his space, and crawling onto Arthur's chest in an effort to gain more attention. Arthur didn't mind, and continued to stroke him. But the new weight on his chest reminded him of his stolen pocket watch again, and he felt his mood drop. He could clearly remember unwrapping the box from his father and finding the golden pocket watch. He had been sternly told to take care of it, and Arthur had gladly complied for years.

But now what?

Arthur sighed, forcing his eyes closed. But he could feel it again, the deep cold and the thin chain easily snapping away from his neck. It had been a small source of comfort for many years, but now his pocket watch was gone.

He chuckled coldly. Find the man who had robbed him? That was impossible. The man's voice had been too muffled for him to make out, and had not left any impression in his mind. He could probably talk to his attacker, have a full conversation with him, and still have no idea who it truly was.

_Just forget about it, _he told himself. _It's not like you're ever going to hear from this man again…_

Oh, how wrong he was.

* * *

_I'm sorry it took me a while to update this T-T School really gets in the way…Not much happened in this chapter, it was more of explaining Arthur's side and background :) More backgrounds will be explained later, and we'll hopefully get to the main storyline points (USUK interactions ^0^) soon. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think ^_^_


	3. Geranium

Alfred leaned against the rusted railing, sighing heavily. Even his favourite place in the whole world couldn't take his mind off what had happened. It was a balcony built into the roof of the house Alfred was living in. It had been declared off limits, due to a series of missing and rotten floorboards, but that hadn't stopped Alfred from exploring and claiming the area as his own personal hideout. He could see everything up there but no one could see him. It was awesome.

But even here, Alfred's thoughts would drift back to what he had done. Combining the money Alfred had found in the wallet and what he had already owned, Alfred had enough money to pay the rent. He had stormed down the stairs and practically threw it in his landlord's face. It had seemed like Ivan Braginski had wanted to say something, but the American had fled before he could voice his concerns.

Now Alfred only had worry about how he was going to pay his rent next month.

He had briefly contemplated selling the pocket watch, but had then decided against it. He was pretty sure he had turned into enough of a villain without getting money off something that obviously had some kind of sentimental value. He didn't know why he had taken it in the first place. There had been some unknown allure about it as it had glittered against the blind man's chest, and Alfred had snatched it away, almost greedily. It now rested in Alfred's palm, a mocking memento to his decision.

Alfred tore his eyes away from it, stuffing it in his pocket. He was wearing the same dark blue hoodie from that night. The way it clung to Alfred's skin now made him feel sick, but it was warm and the closest thing he had to a coat.

He had to tell someone. Alfred knew this as he yanked open the stiff door, travelling down the uneven and creaky stairs and hall, easily moving across gaping holes in the floor and the dangerously weak floorboards. Anyone else would have never attempted making the perilous journey through the hall, but Alfred had walked down it so many times, extending tentative feet the first few times so that he knew which floorboards were safe, that he could go through the hall blindfolded.

He didn't pass many of the other tenants as he left the large house. Even if he had, he was too lost in thought to notice. He felt guilty. He hadn't wanted to rob the man, let alone stab him.

The guilt was borderline painful. He couldn't help but hope that if he told someone, the pain would lessen, even if it was only slightly. He'd probably have a mental breakdown if he didn't.

He moved through the chilly day, pausing only to glance into a gloomy alleyway. A group of teenagers huddled at the very back, hurriedly spreading graffiti. On a normal day, Alfred probably would have stepped in and stopped them. But after what he had done, Alfred no longer believed he had the authority to. So he continued walking.

The place he was heading to wasn't too far, and at the hurried pace he was already moving at, he reached his destination in just under ten minutes.

The building that loomed in front of Alfred was a restaurant. It specialised in food from East Asia, and was owned by a rather androgynous looking Chinese man. The general rule was that if you worked there then you were allowed to live in the flat above the restaurant. Because of this, it attracted the attention of a lot of Asian students studying in the country.

Alfred wondered when the last time he had actually bought a meal at the restaurant was. He used to visit all the time, but then money began growing tight and he realised that even getting multiple part-time jobs wasn't helping. The only times he ever seemed to enter the building now was after it had closed for the day, so that he could visit his arguably closest friend, Kiku Honda.

Alfred found Kiku in the kitchen at the back of the restaurant, determinedly scrubbing dishes. A few of the other employees had given him strange looks when he made a beeline for the kitchen, but had said nothing. They were used to him visiting, just not during work hours.

Kiku smiled politely when he noticed Alfred, pausing in his work. "Ah, hello, Alfred-san."

"Hey," Alfred said. "Listen, I need to talk to you about something. Privately."

"I'm sorry, Alfred-san, but I'm busy, and…" Kiku stopped, taking in Alfred's appearance. The American was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. His clothes seemed more creased them usual, his glasses askew, and it looked like he hadn't even tried to brush his hair. Something must have been troubling him.

Kiku sighed. "Mei-san," the Taiwanese girl, who had been collecting a few clean plates, glanced up expectantly. "Could you tell Yao-san that I am taking my break now?" He turned back to Alfred when she smiled and nodded. "Alright, Alfred-san. Let's go upstairs."

Almost every room in the upstairs area was littered with video games, anime, and manga hidden inside textbooks. Alfred had spent enough time hanging out up there to know that even Kiku, who he had often regarded as an extreme neat freak, had a room full of empty ice-cream tubs and discarded manga drawings.

As everyone else was working, it was currently deserted. Kiku moved through his room, shifting the laptop on the bed so that there was room to sit-down. But this was unneeded, as Alfred remained standing, glancing outside to make sure that they were truly alone.

"So, Alfred-san," Kiku crossed his arms. "What's wrong?"

For a few seconds, Alfred merely stared at his friend. He was thinking back, remembering what had happened, what he had done, how things had spiralled out of control so easily…And suddenly, whatever had been keeping the American calm was destroyed. He burst into tears, sobbing loudly and dashing forward, grabbing Kiku in a bone crushing hug.

"Oh my God, Kiku! I-I've done something terrible! I didn't mean to! I-It wasn't supposed to go that far! I-I-I just-! I-!" Alfred stopped for breath, sobbing into Kiku's clothes.

Kiku wheezed. He hadn't understood a word of what Alfred had said. "A-Alfred-san, please, calm down." He somehow managed to pry off Alfred's constricting arms and stumbled backwards.

But Alfred had given up on trying to form proper sentences and began crying into his hands, almost knocking his glasses off completely. What had been building up over the past few days was finally being released, and Alfred found the tears just wouldn't stop.

"Please, Alfred-san-!" Kiku found himself looking around his room frantically. He wanted to know what was upsetting Alfred so much, but the American was obviously in no state to tell him. There had to be a way to calm him down…

"A-Alfred-san, look!" Kiku emerged from a mini fridge in the corner of his room, holding something up for Alfred to see, "Ice-cream! You like ice-cream, Alfred-san!"

Alfred continued crying, but his sobs were quieter. He looked up, hiccupping a little.

"If you promise to calm down and tell me what's wrong," Kiku said, relieved he had gained some kind of reaction, "you can have the ice-cream." Alfred nodded, wiping away the continuous flow of tears from his watery eyes and Kiku handed him the tub of ice-cream. "Well?"

It took a little while longer for Alfred to actually speak. It wasn't just because of his own wailing, but also because he was scared of what Kiku would think of him. Even if he was his best friend, the polite Japanese man would probably be disgusted with him.

"Sorry, Kiku, I-I'm the one who wanted to talk to you, and then I just start crying…The truth is, I…" Alfred didn't want to see Kiku's expression turn horrified or angry, so he stared down at the ice-cream in his hands instead. "A few nights ago, I mugged a man."

In the stunned silence that followed, Kiku sat down on the bed behind him. "Ah," he said. "I…I suppose that is pretty bad…"

Alfred sniffed, a few tears still threatening to fall. Well…At least Kiku wasn't rushing to call the police. Yet. "It gets worse. I kind of accidently stabbed him."

Kiku's hands flew to his mouth. "A-Alfred-san!"

"I know, I know!" Alfred groaned loudly. "It's just…He suddenly got really protective and started trying to fight back, and…I don't know, it just happened! I-I called the hospital, and I tried to stop the bleeding with my scarf…" Alfred paused. "Hell, I left my scarf there!"

Kiku stared at Alfred weakly. "Why…Why would you do this in the first place?"

"I didn't want to! I barely had any money to pay the rent. Nothing I did worked, and I was desperate, so I…" Alfred squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh, God, Kiku! I freaking stabbed him! W-what if the ambulance didn't get there in time and he died? I-I'm a murderer!"

It seemed like Alfred was about to break down in tears all over again. Kiku stood, stepping a little closer to Alfred. "Listen, Alfred-san, I'm sure this man is fine. I'm definitely not saying what you did was right, it was probably the worst decision you have ever made and ever will…But, at least you called the hospital? Many others in your situation would have just run away at the first sign of trouble."

"…I-I guess." Alfred nodded tearfully. "B-but you don't understand, Kiku! He…He was blind! I stabbed a blind man! A-and then I robbed him anyway…I took his wallet and some weird pocket watch thing around his neck…W-why does a blind man need a watch in the first place? But- Ah! That's not even the point! I-I'm a monster, a villain! Y-you should just call the police or something! They have my scarf, they can probably get a DNA sample off it, so they'll probably figure out it's me sooner or later! I…I…!"

Alfred hugged Kiku again, burying his head in the shorter man's shoulder. He was crying again, but not as violently as before.

Kiku stiffened. He wasn't comfortable with hugs. But he knew that if he rejected it, Alfred would probably take it the wrong way and start wailing again. Instead, he attempted patting the American's back in what he figured was a comforting way.

He didn't know what to do. Alfred had just told him to call the police, but…Kiku sighed. Would calling the police be the right thing to do? Yes. Did he _want _to get his best friend arrested for something he clearly felt guilty about? No.

"Alfred-san…I-it's alright." It wasn't alright. Of course it wasn't. But what else could Kiku say? "E-everything will be fine."

He barely believed his own words. Kiku just wanted to offer some form of false comfort. Alfred had come to him with his problem, so he must have trusted him. Betraying that trust in some way was the last thing he wanted to do.

But…Maybe everything _would _be alright? Alfred had mentioned something about his scarf, but maybe the police wouldn't find out it was him? And what were the odds that Alfred would ever encounter the man he had mugged again?

* * *

_Typical. You waste about three years of your life worrying that the world might end, but when the day comes by, the apocalypse doesn't have the decency to happen…It's not like I wanted much, maybe just a zombie or a meteor or something…Well, if the world does end in England, it'd probably be because of floods :3 It's been very rainy over the past few days…_

_Being serious now, I can't help but think this chapter seemed a little…lack__ing. :( Sorry if it was boring, but it going to be another few chapters until the main general storyline. The first few chapters are mainly about description, I guess XD Oh, and about the restaurant Kiku worked at, I generally think the inside would be similar to a Wagamama restaurant XD But for some reason, I didn't get around to describing the interior at all…Well, please review and tell me what you think ^_^_


	4. Anthurium

Matthew Williams honestly didn't know why he was surprised. It was just like Alfred to forget something like this, to the point where Matthew wasn't sure if he felt annoyed or disappointed. He eventually decided on a strange, bitter mix of the two, with the former being the more mild one.

It wasn't every day that he found time to visit, especially not for months in a row, so he had really been looking forward to it. He had even called his cousin countless times just to make sure he wouldn't forget, but this now seemed to have been in vain. Alfred might have sounded excited at the time, but Matthew knew from experience that he often had the memory and attention span of an impatient puppy.

After about half an hour of waiting, one of the other tenants of the house finally noticed Matthew and told him that Alfred had left in quite a hurry earlier that day. Matthew had thanked them and then waited a further five minutes, just in case his cousin decided to come back. But there was no such luck.

His only backup plan had been to visit Gilbert Beilschmidt, a friend who lived nearby. Well, sort of. Gilbert might have been fun to be around at times, but he was often extremely egotistical and even louder than Alfred; a feat Matthew had once thought impossible. Even if Alfred had sounded a little quieter than usual over the phone…

Anyway, Matthew had reached Gilbert's home and attempted explaining what had happened. But the German hadn't listened very long. Apparently his brother had started working at an 'awesome' café a few months ago, and he just _had _to take Matthew there.

That was how Matthew found himself sitting at a two person table, melancholically stirring a cup of coffee. Gilbert sat opposite him, eagerly talking about something and occasionally shooting glares at the Austrian pianist across the room.

Well, at least the café was nice. Although, Matthew wouldn't describe it as 'awesome' like Gilbert had. A better word would probably be…welcome. It felt warm and safe and was filled with the low chatter that could only be found in a cosy home. The people who worked there all wore genuine friendly smiles, and they had gladly complied with his request for maple syrup to be added to his coffee. Matthew had even heard there was supposed to be a violinist, a _blind _violinist at that, although he didn't seem to be present that day.

"…And that was the idea!" Gilbert's bragging cut through Matthew's sleepy thoughts. "Can you believe everyone said no at first? But even when they _finally _agreed, they said he couldn't use the blindfold…" Gilbert jammed a fork into the cake in front of him, reminding the Canadian of how someone would hack into a piece of meat. "You think it's a good idea, right?"

"Oh, um…" Matthew desperately tried to remember what they had been talking about. "…Yes?"

Gilbert grinned, the assault on his food lessening slightly. "Knew it!"

With a small relieved smile, Matthew sipped his coffee. Gilbert didn't seem to realise Matthew's attention had long since drifted out of the conversation. It wasn't that he hadn't been interested or anything, but…Well, there was only so much someone could take of another's self-proclaimed 'awesome' ideas. And the delicate notes played by the pianist had been rather inviting, no matter how much Gilbert seemed to dislike the man behind the piano.

The light tinkle of bells signalled that the door had opened. Matthew glanced up lazily, feeling only a slight curiosity, and felt his mouth fall into a little 'o' shape when his eyes set on the new arrival. There was only one man who could flounce into a room like that, looking as if they had just stepped out of some kind of glittery shampoo advert.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy?" Matthew blinked. The flamboyant Frenchman was about to move past his table, but slowly turned at the sound of his name.

Confusion was only on Francis's expression for a few seconds. "Matthew? Is that you?" Francis laughed. "What a surprise! I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you moved back to Canada?"

"That's right." Matthew nodded. "But I've got a holiday, so I'm down here for the next few months."

Francis smiled, but it faltered in slight curiosity when he noticed the grinning albino. "Oh? You two know each other?"

"Yep!" Gilbert answered instead of Matthew. "We've known each other for a while. I figured taking him here would be the best way to celebrate his little trip back here. Oh, and I forgot my wallet, so you're paying, Mattie." Matthew made a small squawk of protest, but before he could attempt to voice his complaints Gilbert said, "by the way, Francis, what happened to Arthur? He's not been here in days. I've heard a few rumours flying around, but…"

"Ah." Francis's expression darkened. "Arthur has been in the hospital. He was only let out this morning."

Matthew frowned in concern, wondering about this person only he didn't seem to know, and Gilbert asked, "So that was _true_? What happened?"

Francis sighed, letting his shoulders sag. "He was attacked. Someone stabbed him and stole his wallet."

Gilbert swore. "What? Who the hell would do something like that?"

"I don't know. Luckily, his injury isn't as bad as it could have been. He mostly just seems shaken, but he won't be able to work for a week or two."

"Um…" Matthew chimed in uncertainly. "S-sorry, but I'm a little confused…"

"Oh, right, right." Gilbert turned back to Matthew. "Arthur's our friend. He's that blind violinist guy I was telling you about."

"And he was mugged?" Matthew felt a small stab of disgust. What kind of person attacked a blind man?

Gilbert began climbing out of his chair. "Yeah…Ugh, this conversation's depressed me. You know what? I'm gonna go annoy Roderich. That's always fun." He left the table. "Hey, Roddy!" All Matthew and Francis could hear were the gentle notes of the piano abruptly stopping. "Hey, don't run Roddy. _Roddy_!"

Matthew sighed, not complaining when Francis occupied Gilbert's now empty chair. "He never changes," Francis said with a small smirk. "Although, I have to wonder what he was doing here with you…"

"O-oh, no." Matthew's eyes widened slightly. He knew his old teacher well enough to know what he was implying. "It's nothing like that, Monsieur Bonnefoy. We're just friends."

"If you insist…" He smiled. "But, Matthew, you don't have to call me that anymore. You're no longer a student, so just 'Francis' is fine." Before Matthew could reply to this, he asked, "So, how have you been? It has been a quite a while since you moved."

"Oh, yes, I've been alright. I'm living on my own right now, and my studies are going pretty well. Really, the only worries I have are about my cousin." Matthew laughed nervously, but then wondered why he had actually said that. He hadn't even mentioned anything about Alfred to Gilbert, and it wasn't like Francis would be interested in something like that…

But Francis _did _seem curious. "Your cousin?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Um, yes. My cousin, Alfred. He…Well, he hasn't been as lucky. I heard he's been having problems with money lately, and he told me that any jobs he can actually keep don't pay him enough. Really, my main worry is that he'll end up doing something stupid…"

"Like what? Stealing?"

Matthew chuckled. "I really can't imagine that. Alfred might be a little unpredictable, but he's definitely no criminal. He has these really strong views of justice that he's had since he was little. One time, when we were kids, Alfred actually dived into a river just to save a kitten that had fallen in. I was more worried that he would get involved with loan sharks or something."

"Hmm…So I suppose your cousin is quite noble then."

"Well, I wouldn't say 'noble', exactly…" Matthew said before sipping at his coffee again.

"…Say, is your cousin seeing anyone?"

This question made Matthew splutter, releasing a few droplets of coffee. That had been unexpected, and rather direct. The answer, though…

"Um, no. He's not. It's kind of hard for him to fine someone, though, since…" Matthew coughed awkwardly. Having to explain this always felt so…weird. Although, Francis didn't seem like the type of person who'd be bothered by that sort of thing… "You see, Alfred usually, um…'plays for the other team'…?"

If Francis was fazed by this answer, he didn't show it. His gaze did, however, grow distant, as if he was carefully calculating something in his head.

Matthew would have asked _why _Francis felt the need to ask such a blunt question, even though he remembered questions like that (and even worse ones) had been pretty normal for the Frenchman, but there was a sudden metallic clang. Matthew craned his neck behind him and was met with a rather strange sight. Gilbert was clutching his own nose, trying to stop the steady spill of blood, and glaring daggers at a woman with long, chestnut hair. She was standing in front of the Austrian pianist from earlier defensively, wielding a red speckled pan. Her own expression practically mirrored Gilbert's.

"Oh dear," Matthew sighed. He stood, trying to decide between either breaking up the inevitable fight or pretending he didn't know the German.

* * *

_Sorry this took ages :( It's an important year of school…This would have been uploaded earlier, but I kept getting distracted by TV Tropes and watching let's plays of Mad Father T-T_

_But now we have a link! A link between both sides of the story :D Arthur knows Francis, Francis knows Matthew, and Matthew knows Alfred XD_

_I was having trouble choosing a flower for this chapter…Eventually I decided on anthurium, because it's supposed to mean hospitality :) As in, the hospitality of the café XD _

_I decided to make Francis a French teacher :3 I played around with other job possibilities, but…Anyway, Matthew was once a friendly student of Francis's, and that's how they know each other :D_

_As for Alfred and Matthew…I made them cousins. There was no super amazing motive for this; just general selfishness :(In almost every single story I am writing involving them, I've been giving them some kind of backstory about how their parents split up and that's how they have different last names. But I didn't want to write that all the time, so…Yes, they're cousins ^^' I've seen it done before with them, so…_

_Anyway, please review and tell me what you think ^_^_


	5. Iris

Rose loved flowers. She always had. They reminded her of earlier days, where she could flop down on the grass of the back garden lazily, too tired and hot in the heat of summer to do much else. Arthur and Francis were often there beside her, one usually plucking at grass curiously and the other drifting off to sleep.

If she wasn't doing that, then Rose would be tugging at the boys' hands and clothing, begging them to play with her. Looking back, Rose sometimes wondered if they found this annoying, especially since Arthur and Francis were two and five years older than her respectively, but she could only ever remember the two of them smiling at her and agreeing without too much complaint.

There were many flowers in the garden, all of them planted and cared for by her and Arthur's father, and Rose always thought of them as the most beautiful flowers she would ever see. She would watch her father take care of them every morning before he left for work and she had to go to school. Eventually she took it upon herself to learn about all the flowers, so that maybe she would be able to make her own garden too one day.

But then the accident happened.

Arthur, after losing his sight, grew withdrawn. Smiles became a rare occurrence, as did any show of positive emotions. Rose would have expected him to cry after waking up to darkness, like their mother seemed to do countless times after the accident, or at least reveal some form of sadness, but…there was nothing. He was shocked, of course, but besides that it was almost as if displaying emotion had become an effort to him. She hadn't seen her brother cry since the accident.

No one tended to the garden after that. The grass grew wild and the weeds multiplied. Rose attempted tearing at the weeds and watering the flowers herself, but the former would always call upon new recruits, and there was nothing Rose could do for the flowers once winter arrived.

Rose was soon banned from entering the garden again. Teenagers had started to throw rubbish in from behind the fence, and she had cut herself on some of the sharper things more than once when trying to get rid of them. It was all for her protection, her mother had said, but Rose couldn't help but feel a small grudge as she looked out the grimy window, staring at the dry and withered flowers and wondering how things could have changed so quickly.

But things were better now. She had planted her own flowers in the current back garden, and Arthur had grown less distant ever since they moved. He would actually smile and laugh, and even his irritated rants were a relief to hear.

Except…The mugging incident seemed to have brought them back to square one. Arthur was acting practically the same as he had before, silent and almost indifferent, and it worried Rose. Now that he couldn't work, it was almost as if he didn't know what to do with himself anymore. She had last seen him lying down with his blank eyes cast towards the ceiling, absentmindedly petting the cat and listening to the radio.

_It'll be fine, _Rose tried to convince herself, delicately adding flowers to a small bouquet. She could remember Arthur giving her a faint smile before she left that morning, so maybe it wasn't _that _bad?

She just wished there was something she could do. Arthur's behaviour was concerning her. Sending him to a psychiatrist would have been pointless, though, as she knew her brother well enough to know that he would refuse to go.

With a sigh, Rose stood up from the flower covered table she had been working on, carrying the latest bouquet to the front of the shop where the world could see it. Like the others, it was large with many different flowers and delicately tied together with a bow.

There was something bothering her. The day she had been informed about what had happened to Arthur, the police had returned his things to their home. His cane, his violin…and a scarf?

They had left before she could say anything. They had obviously assumed that it belonged to Arthur, and that he had tried to use it to stop the bleeding. But…Arthur hadn't been wearing a scarf when he left for work that morning. Rose was sure of it. She could picture the scene in her mind clearly, and her brother was not wearing a scarf. …So whose was it? It was cold that night, so maybe someone at his job found out he was walking home and leant it to him? She had been putting it off, but she really should ask Arthur about it at some point…

The door opened. Rose glanced at the new arrival out of the corner of her eye and immediately stopped whatever she was doing. Although she really wished she didn't, Rose knew this person.

Her immediate reaction? She hid behind a small shelf of brightly coloured flowers. It wasn't the first time that Francis had shown up at her workplace, and she knew from experience that it was never a good sign.

She remembered, even though she would never admit it, actually liking Francis a little when she was little. It could maybe even have been considered a crush. Except, the ways she showed affection back then weren't exactly normal. Rose could recall braiding small flowers in to his hair as he was sleeping, and then dumping on some beetles she had found while playing near the flowers. (He had screamed. Loudly. It was actually pretty funny). Although, she had obviously long since outgrown those feelings…

Rose adjusted her glasses and tried desperately hard to look like she was doing something productive. If she knew Francis, then he would probably find her hiding spot in 3…2…1…

"Ah, Rose!"

_Knew it._

"What do you want?" Rose asked without looking up. "Can't you see I'm working?"

"Really?" She could tell Francis was staring at her sceptically. "What are you doing, exactly?"

Rose neatened a few of the flower pots on the shelf. "A very important job."

"Which is…?"

"…A-Aren't you supposed to be teaching today?"

Francis made a 'Yeah, so?' expression. "It's my lunch break. Besides, it doesn't matter if I'm only a few minutes late…"

_How did this man become a teacher again? _Rose thought with a raised eyebrow.

"And anyway," Francis continued, "I need to talk to you about something."

"What?"

"Well, it's nothing much…I just need to know- Arthur is still single, right?"

Rose blinked, the plant pot she had grabbed without thinking almost slipping through her fingers. "Um…Yes?" Okay, what was Francis planning now?

"Thought so." He noticed her suspicious expression. "…What?"

"People don't just randomly ask about another's relationship status for no reason. What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing…Yet." Francis smiled. "Don't worry, I promise this isn't anything too major. It was just something that popped into my head while I was talking to an old student of mine. I still need to figure out a few things first, but I assure you that if everything goes according to plan then this should benefit your brother."

Rose stared at him. "'Benefit'…? What are you talking about?"

Francis patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. Once I'm positive that this will work out then you will be one of the first to know. But for now, please be patient."

"Oh no, Frenchie." Rose scowled and pushed his hand away. "I want a better explanation than that."

"I…Like I said, I still need to figure a few things out. But…Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you a small idea…" Francis sighed. "Okay then, fine. How would you feel about setting Arthur up on a date?"

* * *

_Chapter end XD As I've probably said many times, I hope this is okay XD _

_...Well, I don't have much to say here. We know a bit about Rose's point of view though; that's good, right? XD_

_Please review and tell me what you think ^_^_


End file.
